


Name and Form

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Feels, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Gen, Poor Arthur, Pre-Canon, Uther Pendragon's A+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Arthur doesn't know the name of his mother's dæmon. Melisande doesn't know what form he took.This isn't quite how they hoped to learn.
Series: Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552132
Comments: 9
Kudos: 323





	Name and Form

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur—Melisande, unsettled  
> Uther—Mercuritia, wild boar  
> Gaius—Jocosa, crested gecko  
> (Ygraine—Russano, Arctic fox)

"What do you think?"

Arthur looks up from the book on Hellas that his tutor had given him to study as Melisande springs up onto the desk, prancing before him on delicate little paws. She's never tried this form before: a sleek fox, white all over. Her dark amber eyes are rimmed in black like a courtier's, matching her button nose. She's smaller than the red-furred foxes the nobles go hunting for, but that makes her the perfect size to perch in his lap. "I like it," he replies, stroking her back. She looks very pretty in this form, all sleek and white and lovely, like the silky winter pelts noble ladies drape themselves in. Her fur is drowning-soft and thick. "Will you—?"

"I don't know," she cuts him off, nipping his fingers in reproach. "It doesn't _work_ that way, Arthur, I've told you."

He laughs as he tweaks one of her little ears. "And you'll have to tell me once more, I'm sure." He's one-and-ten now, and two of the other boys he practices forms with, their dæmons have already settled, and they're not even a full year older than he is. Mercuritia settled when Father was _ten._ And she can hardly blame him for wanting to know what she'll be, what he is. Which is why he always asks if she knows what she'll settle as, especially when she tries out new shapes.

"Well, do _you_ like it?" Arthur prompts instead. Some forms she doesn't like at all and has only ever tried the once—a bat, a viper, a songbird, a squirrel, half a dozen others.

Melisande turns herself in a neat circle on his lap, small paws pressing on his thighs, and sits neatly on his knee. "I do," she decides. "What are you reading?"

"Hellene legends. Here, look." He turns a few pages and points to a drawing of a monstrous creature, part man and part aurochs. "A queen was cursed by one of their gods to lay with a _bull,"_ he says, both repulsed and fascinated in the way only small children can be. Quickly enough, he forgets all about studying and instead begins to flip through the pages at random, Melisande pointing out different illustrations to him, reading the accompanying legends aloud, sometimes laughing and sometimes not.

He doesn't give any mind to the candle burning lower or the room darkening as the sun goes down, but then Melisande nips at his wrist. "Come on, Father wants to have supper with us," she reminds him, leaping down from his lap. "You need to change. You've got ink on your sleeve again."

Arthur smiles as he closes the book and rises from his chair. Father hardly ever has dinner with him. Usually, he takes supper in his study or in his chambers, especially since he's been so busy with the Mercians. Arthur's hardly seen him at all, it seems like, except passing in the corridors.

"Wear the blue one," Melisande says when he opens the wardrobe, weaving between his ankles, more like a cat than a fox. "You look nice in blue."

Obediently, he takes off his tunic—there is a spatter of ink on the sleeve where he must've brushed against a still-wet page—and puts on a clean white tunic, then his blue coat, holding out his arms for her inspection.

"Very good. Come on." Melisande slides neatly between his ankles and trots towards the door, fluffy tail swishing, and he follows after her, making his usual game of trying to trip her up as they walk, even as she zigzags back and forth in front of him, laughing happily.

When he enters the small hall, Father is already seated with a full plate in front of him, another place set at his side. "Good evening, Father," Arthur says happily, walking around the table towards the other chair. Melisande darts around his feet, going over to give the great boar dæmon her customary greeting.

_"Russano?"_ Mercuritia exclaims, lurching upright so abruptly she jostles Father's chair with one thick shoulder. It isn't easy to read emotion on a boar's face, but she looks floored nonetheless, her hide shivering all over as if she's taken with a plague of flies.

Staring down at Melisande, Father's face has gone white. "Leave me," he rasps out. "Get out."

"Father?" Arthur says dumbly, confused. Leave? He's not even sat down yet. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Melisande slinks closer to Mercuritia, trying to understand what it is they've done wrong. She doesn't expect the great sow to give a warning snort, tossing her heavy head, tusks flashing. She doesn't wear her specially-made armour anymore, nor does she wield the sharp iron tips on her tusks, but they aren't any less dangerous for lack of embellishment. Arthur's seen what a boar can do to a grown man; Melisande is far smaller and far more delicate. Squeaking, she leaps away and streaks back to Arthur, hiding behind his legs.

"Father—" Arthur tries a second time, a tremor of fear unfurling in his belly. Mercuritia has never acted thusly before, not once.

_"Out!"_ Father bellows. His voice rings off the rafters, huge and terrible.

Fear wins. Arthur stoops and snatches Melisande up in one quick movement, bolting for the doors of the hall. He's going so quick that when he comes 'round a corner, there's no time to pull up before he runs full-on into Gaius, stumbling back.

"Forgive me, young sire," Gaius apologises, though it was Arthur's fault, straightening his robes; the brown lizard dæmon on his shoulder cocks her tiny head and eyes them up. His brow furrows. "Are you well, sire? I thought you would be at dinner with your father."

"I-I was," Arthur stammers out, the words falling out in a hurried jumble, heart still rabbiting too fast in his chest. "I was, Gaius, but I did something wrong, I made him angry because he shouted at me, he told me to go, and Mercuritia was angry at Melisande, too, and she called her Russano, and I don't know what I did to make him so angry, I…." He shakes his head, hugging Melisande to his chest, and he looks up at the old physician. "What have I done wrong?"

Gaius's brow furrows into an understanding little grimace, and his little dæmon hides under a fold of cloth. "Ah, my dear boy. It is no fault of yours," he says at last, folding his hands into the wide sleeves of his robes. "It is only that…ah, you must understand, you resemble your mother a great deal, more than you realise. Nobody could mistake you for anything but her child. And her dæmon…." His gaze settles on Melisande, still shivering in Arthur's grasp in her sleek white fox form.

And just like that, he understands.

Arthur never asks about his mother. He's learnt not to, because it only ever serves to make Father either angry or sad. The last time he had asked about her, Father didn't speak to him for nearly an entire fortnight.

"You've done nothing wrong" Gaius tries to reassure him, but the words are just wind.

Arthur tightens his grip on Melisande until it hurts his own ribs. Throat tight, he mumbles something like an apology and bolts, sprinting back towards his chamber. He isn't hungry anymore. Slamming the door shut and throwing the bolt for measure, he flings Melisande away from him hard. "It's all your fault!"

"I'm _sorry,_ I didn't _know,"_ she insists, slinking back towards him, but she has to leap back again when Arthur kicks at her.

"Get _away_ from me! It's your fault! You did this!" he shouts, snatching the book they'd been reading only a short time ago and hurling it at her in a fury. To his shame, tears burn in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he storms across the room, scrambling up into his bed boots and all. He yanks the blankets up over his head, burying his face in a pillow. He feels the mattress shift as Melisande jumps up alongside him and kicks in her direction, jerking at the sheets. She retreats to the far corner of the bed.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, biting a mouthful of his pillow to keep from sobbing. He thinks someone knocks on the door of his chambers, but perhaps it's only his imagination. Finally, Arthur can bear it no longer. He sits up, flings off the blankets, and opens his arms; Melisande springs across the bed to him, burrowing against his chest. Seizing the edge of the covers, he draws them up and over his head again, cocooning them both in heavy, warm darkness. This way, he can pretend that Melisande isn't trembling against him so hard he can feel it in his own chest and that it isn't tears dampening her fur when he buries his face in her pelt.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, clutching her close and tight, feeling her blunt claws dig into his skin. Every prick of discomfort is dear to him. He burrows his face into her fur, feeling the rapid flutter of her heart.

"I didn't know." Melisande's voice is small.

He nods, hugging her closer. _"We_ didn't know."

But he knows now, knows more than he had for the past one-and-ten years of his life. He knows that he looks like his mother more than his father. He knows what his mother's dæmon had been. And he knows what her dæmon's name was.

"Russano," Arthur murmurs into the darkness, letting the name hang in the close, warm air. He savours the mouthfeel of it, sweet as some forbidden candy, and Melisande shivers against his chest, her muzzle tucked into the bend of his neck. "Russano."

The incident is never spoken of again.

Melisande never becomes a white fox after that night.


End file.
